“You know, if you just hold still, your leg wouldn’t get stuck in this elf stocking.”
I picked up a tiny green pointy-toed elf from the change table. His legs were kicking high. He giggled.
I propped him up against his brother Beau who was decked out as a miniature Santa. I jumped around, taking happy snaps of elf boy and Santa baby. The boys were one and two years of age.
Last weekend, we were at a work Christmas party for the kids. The mini men were dressed in normal T-shirt and shorts, though I wanted to put them in reindeer ears.
A bell was tinkling and it got louder and closer. There was a firm grab of my shorts around my legs. I looked down and Beau was peering from behind my hip.
“Whatchya doin’ Beau?” I stroked his head. “It’s Santa, go and say hello.”
His head, with eyes still planted firmly on the red monster coming toward him, shook from side to side.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” I bobbed down and his bottom lip was quivering.
His face was crimson from the pressure of blood rushing him. Either he was going to implode or fly away.
“I d-d-don’t like Santa.” I looked for Chick who was under Dawn’s armpit, hiding.
“Really? You seem to like him when he drops off lots of presents.”
I laughed, I could still see him as Santa baby sitting on Santa’s knee years ago.
Later we were shopping when we heard bells pealing. The men stopped dead in their tracks and then flight took over and they bolted behind me.
I couldn’t stop laughing (yes, not great parenting, I know) but we couldn’t escape the Santa army.
I did start imagining creepy Santas cornering us at all angles like zombie Clauses with drone elves, but right now I had to contend with frightened minis.
“It’s alright guys,” I said as we fled out the side of Myer. “I’m not keen on big, hairy men in tight red fur either.”